


Perennial

by Menya_Savut



Category: Brotherhood: Final Fantasy XV - Fandom, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Bisexuality, BrOT4, Enemies to Lovers to Friends, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Ignis-centric, Male Friendship, Mentors, Non-Explicit Sex, OT4, Other, Pre-Canon, Slight mentions of blood, canon-compliant deaths, growing into oneself, non-graphic mentions of death, probably not canon-compliant, tags af (i'm so sorry)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 07:04:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8964715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menya_Savut/pseuds/Menya_Savut
Summary: Ignis Scientia through the years.





	

**Author's Note:**

> CAUTION: I HAVE NOT PLAYED THE GAME. I HAVE NEVER PLAYED AN FF GAME. I HAVE ONLY SEEN A HANDFUL OF CUTSCENES AND THE BROTHERHOOD ANIME. I HAVE MUCKED AROUND ON WIKIPEDIA. THAT IS IT. I APOLOGIZE FOR ANY MISTAKES, CANON-RELATED OR OTHERWISE.  
> oh also i have read lots of fanfic because we are all trash yes

Ignis Scientia was a child prodigy. He learned to speak in full, flowing sentences at only two and a half years old. He tackled Latin by the age of five, Greek by the age of six. By the time he was eight he’d read through the _Republic, Politics, Meditations_ , all in their original languages. He didn’t limit himself to that, though; _The Art of War, The Social Contract, The Prince_ all fell under his scrutiny. He wrote, avidly; essays, manuscripts, treatises, a good majority of which appeared in the leading academic journals of Lucis. He was accepted into the Royal Academy at the tender age of ten, when most entering students were fourteen. From there, he steadily moved forward in his studies, so that now, in his sixteenth year, he stood on the cusp of graduation and appointment as a member of the Royal Advisory. In contrast, his classmates were in their early twenties.

Ignis was small only due to his youth, lightly built with a shock of ruddy red hair. Years of poring over dusty, fading books showed themselves by the pair of glasses that sat on his nose. Ignis Scientia was known to speak well, and openly, but only when needed. At other times, he kept to himself, and people got the impression that he didn’t really mind it either way. He didn’t; spending time with others was nice, because one was able to hear and consider others’ opinions and perspectives, and books held the words of people whom one could never meet. It was all the same.

The first week of January marked the start of the students’ foray into final evaluations. If all went well, come May each graduate would begin his or her independent study, paired with an advisor of the king. Before any of that, though, were the thesis drafts, political meetings, status reports, government functions.

Speaking of which.

Ignis had allowed himself to be pulled into conversation with a Duke and Duchess; he berated himself for not noting where they’d said they hailed from, but the formal hall was unbearably hot, every fireplace in the wall lit, on top of the heating system, to combat the presumably chilling cold outside. He clasped a glass of wine he couldn’t drink in one hand and nodded as interestedly as he could to their lamentations over servant politics. Ignis wasn’t in training to be a castle manager; he had no idea that shirts ought to be boiled in the evening and not in the morning.

He was saved, however, when the Duchess’s attention was caught by the entrance of a well-dressed woman and a little boy.

“Oh, is that the Prince?” the Duchess asked him. “How extraordinarily delicate.”

“Yes,” said Ignis. Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum boasted thread-thin limbs, ethereal skin, soft hair that fell in wisps around his face. The starkness of his image was only intensified by the deep black velvet coat and trousers he wore, embroidered with silver vines. The woman who held his hand was dressed smartly in a dark red velvet gown.

“Is he still with a nurse?” the duchess tutted. “I would presume at his age he would be under the care of an advisor.”

“An advisor will be assigned to him by the end of May,” Ignis answered, not fully paying attention. The boy was six; he would have an advisor until he was sixteen, by which time he could either choose to make his childhood advisor his preeminent Royal Advisor or select someone else.

An advisor would be assigned to him from the pool of Royal Academy graduating students.

Ignis had forgotten; their professor had stated as much at the beginning of the term, but Ignis had little chance of working with the child, seeing as he was nearly a child himself, and he had focused his attention to matters of the thesis and defense. But all the student advisors were here now, as was the Prince, and Ignis suspected this was a first trial of many.

The Prince’s nurse let go of his hand and moved toward the group of ladies-in-waiting standing near a fire. She glanced at him every few moments, but other than that left him to his own devices.

The Prince stood near the entrance, looking slightly forlorn, until one of the other student advisors, Paerlio, approached him with a friendly smile. Paerlio Matterne would be a good choice for advisor to the Prince; he performed well in his studies, had a gregarious personality, and was quick to learn.

Ignis noted that his mind had drifted from the Duke and Duchess’s conversation again, but they hadn’t seemed to notice. When he refocused, he found they had turned to speak to some other dignitaries.

Ignis relaxed, feeling slightly guilty but relieved. He needed to learn to be more personable, he knew, but it was much easier to talk to his professors or his classmates, who all had clear and logical minds. He turned toward a lone table to set his full glass of wine down and took a seat.

The night wore on; all of the seven courses of dinner had been served, and Ignis felt as if he’d fall asleep into his plate at any moment. There were still at least two hours of festivities, though, and Ignis forced himself to stay awake, albeit seated at the table.

He’d just mentally revised his checklist of things he’d need to do the next day when he became aware of a presence in the chair beside him.

It was the Prince. Neither said a word to the other. Ignis absentmindedly scanned the room for the nurse; he spotted her dancing with a guard near the high table, although she seemed to be trying to disengage. It was just as well; the time was nearing eleven o’clock and Ignis couldn’t imagine the Prince was generally allowed to stay up this late.

Indeed, the nurse hurried over moments later and ushered the Prince away and out of the party.

 

The slowly-encroaching spring meant that a good number of classes were held outside, and Ignis eagerly drank in the sharp, fresh air. They sat in a circle on the lawn, each with a book in their lap, and discussed the merits of Lucis trading with Elverna, or sending resources to Malbrath.

King Regis’s visits to their classes had been growing steadily more frequent as their examinations drew closer. Generally, all he did was sit quietly and listen in, although he’d brought the Prince with him a handful of times, who would sit just as quietly.

He attended a number of royal functions. Strangely enough, when the night was nearly over he’d find that he and the Prince had both pulled themselves away. The Prince seemed to like Paerlio well enough; Ignis had often seen them chatting after class or at these formal gatherings, but for whatever reason Paerlio couldn’t hold the boy’s attention. Ignis spotted Paerlio in the crowd, acting quite similarly to the nurse, flicking his eyes at the Prince every so often, but the Prince was content to stand against the wall and observe his surroundings.

“You shouldn’t lean on the wall,” Ignis said, as an afterthought. “You’ll wrinkle your jacket.”

The Prince gave him a look, but stood up straight.

 

Mid-March (“The Ides of March!” Martela, a rosy-haired classmate had joked) saw the student advisors in individual meetings with the Dean of the school, the Royal Advisor, the King himself. The meetings were relatively standard; each asked how he was doing in his studies, where he hoped to see himself after graduation, what he hoped to accomplish. They all knew it was a cursory game, and that professors ultimately decided the students’ fates, but procedure needed to be followed.

“The Prince has taken a liking to you,” King Regis said lightly, near the end of their meeting.

“I’ve...noticed that,” Ignis said. “We always seem to end up together at functions.”

“How would you respond to being appointed advisor to the Prince?” King Regis said.

Ignis’s eyes widened. “I do not mean to be too forward, but I doubt that I could serve the Prince well. I have no experience with children and have no idea how to interact with one.”

“But the Prince is not just any child,” the King smiled.

Ignis bowed his head. “My apologies.”

King Regis only laughed gently. “Do not worry. In any case, I am considering a few of you for the position.”

“I have noticed that Paerlio has taken an interest,” said Ignis.

“Strange are you, to be recommending a classmate for such an honored position to which you yourself are privy,” said the King.

“Your Majesty, I only mean to suggest the student most appropriate for the appointment,” Ignis said.

“How wise of you,” said the King. “Consider it. In a few weeks’ time Noctis will be spending some time with each of you. Good luck in your studies, Ignis.”

Ignis stood and bowed.

 

He and three others had been chosen for possible appointment as the Prince’s Advisor. Ignis tried not to think too hard on it. Mostly he was nervous that any awkward mishaps with the Prince would impact his chances of a future career as a Junior Advisor.

He thought he’d be brought to the Prince’s living quarters, asked to teach a lesson, and observed by at the very least his professors. To his slight horror, however, his offhand comment of “Nothing much” to his professor’s question of “What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?” resulted in His Highness loitering in his apartment doorway on Saturday at 2:15.

“I’ll be by to pick him up in a couple of hours,” his nurse supplied. And then she left. And that was it. Ignis now had responsibility of arguably the most important child in Lucis.

Ignis stood aside, a silent invitation for the Prince to enter. He did, and stood just as awkwardly in the middle of his living room. Ignis sighed, shut the door, and followed him.

“What would you like to do?”

It was a dangerous question; a Prince, although royalty, was not allowed to do whatever he wanted. However, Ignis didn’t have any true power over him; he was just a student, after all. Perhaps that was the test. Perhaps the test was to see how much freedom he’d give the Prince.

“I want to go outside.”

Ignis internally breathed a sigh of relief. He could do that.

He picked up a couple of books and a light jacket, determined if the Prince was dressed warmly enough (he was, wearing a jacket of his own), and led the boy out into the hallway, down the elevator, and out into the quad. A handful of students were scattered about, studying or lounging in the sun, but Ignis steered them toward a little garden. Most students avoided the place because it was said to be haunted, but even if it was, the ghost had never bothered Ignis. He sat down on a bench and let the boy wander up and down the rows of flowerbeds.

“What’s this one?” the boy called to him. He stood in front of a bed of bright flowers, their cone-shaped bulbs splaying merrily out.

“ _Castilleja_. Indian paintbrush or prairie fire,” said Ignis. He stood and walked over to the Prince. “Here’s the placard,” he said, kneeling down.

The Prince nodded and considered the sign.

“They’re big words, aren’t they?” Ignis said.

The Prince took his wrist sleeve and tugged. “What’s this one?”

The bed next to the Indian paintbrushes held flowers with pointed yellow petals.

“Snapdragon,” said Ignis. “ _Mohavia breviflora._ ”

He allowed himself to be pulled along the garden path, answering questions as he went. This particular garden held desert wildflowers, but the adjoining one (presumably not haunted, which was slightly ironic) held various species of cacti. At this point Ignis took proper hold of the Prince’s hand – he could kiss employment goodbye if the Prince got a faceful of spines on his watch. They made their way through the cactus gardens to a lone yew tree, standing over a crumbling stone gazebo. Ignis lifted the prince onto one shoulder so he could look at the bright red berries more closely.

Ignis could feel the boy flagging a little. He shifted the Prince so that he was cradled more securely in his arms, and headed back to his apartment.

The nurse collected the sleeping Prince from Ignis, and afterwards he went about preparing for mock council.

 

It happened a handful of times after that; sometimes it was on the weekends, sometimes in the evenings after his classes. Sometimes it was midmorning, although on those days the Prince was loathe to do anything except curl up on the couch and talk a little while Ignis did housework. On a few instances, he received a summons from the nurse – she’d gotten held up doing something or other, and requested that he see the Prince to bed. Between classes and time with the Prince, Ignis squeezed in thesis-writing, report-analyzing, and discourse-practicing. Before he knew it, he stood in the main lecture room defending his thesis, the eyes of his classmates and professors upon him.

And then it was over. He’d passed.

By the end of the week they’d know where they’d be going next. Ignis spent Friday night ironing the newly washed shirt for the ceremony the next day. A good number of his things had already been packed up, although he didn’t know yet where to send them.

He was alarmed Saturday morning when a knock on his door revealed a gaggle of palace servants, asking for his things so they could be moved. Moved where? They didn’t know. How could they move his things if they didn’t know where they were moving them to? They didn’t know. It was a tricky thing. At this point Ignis wasn’t a student and wasn’t employed; even the palace servants were above him in rank. Although he felt relatively justified in feeling worried that his things were being taken away.

He left the servants to it and went to the main lecture hall. The students sat in alphabetical order behind the professors, Dean, King’s advisors, and King himself. Presently it was time to begin.

King Regis stood at the podium.

“Before we begin, I would like to ask some of you to step aside. Paerlio Matterne and Ignis Scientia, could you please take the seats in the first row on the left?”

Paerlio and Ignis stood, confused, and moved out of order of their classmates.

The ceremony began, with the King’s, Dean’s, and Head Advisor’s speeches. Then the procession of students began, each being assigned to work under a royal advisor. Some students had been selected to work under other royal families, and some had chosen to work outside of advising. Eventually every student had graduated, except Paerlio and Ignis.

The King gave his concluding remarks and everyone else filed out of the room. The King walked toward Paerlio and Ignis and beckoned toward them.

“Let us speak in the Dean’s office.”

They followed him across the building to the administrative department. The King let himself into the empty office. They all took seats.

“You have probably guessed why you’ve been singled out,” the King said.

“Is it to do with appointment as the Prince’s advisor, Your Majesty?” Paerlio asked.

“Yes,” said the King. “Normally the appointment wouldn’t involve speaking to you beforehand in a private office, but I suspect some of us have concerns.”

The King turned to Ignis. “I’m choosing to appoint you as the Prince’s advisor.”

Ignis didn’t know what to say. Finally, he managed, “I am honored that you have chosen me, Your Majesty.”

“But you are hesitant to accept.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And this is where Paerlio comes in,” the King said. “To assuage your fears. Only! I suspect that none of this will turn out to be necessary. But since you’ve expressed doubts about this position being appropriate for you, I’ve designated Paerlio to be second in line for the position. Paerlio, as of now you’ve been accepted to work at Envision Industries. However, if Ignis and I decide that he should be placed somewhere else, you’ll be asked to return.”

“I accept, Your Majesty.” Paerlio bowed his head. The King nodded to him.

“You may go,” the King said. Paerlio nodded, but he hesitated.

“If I may, Your Majesty?”

“Go ahead.”

“Ignis, why don’t you think you should be the Prince’s advisor?”

Ignis blinked and threw a glance at the King, who looked completely unaffected. “I don’t know how to raise a child.”

Paerlio didn’t look convinced. “I don’t understand. You’ve been taking care of his Highness for months now.”

“That was only for the trial period,” Ignis said.

“The trial period ended in April,” said Paerlio. “I haven’t spent time with his Highness since then.”

“And I recall you overseeing Noctis’s dinner, schoolwork, and bedtime just two nights ago,” the King smiled.

Ignis raised his eyebrows.

“And he likes you,” the King continued. “I asked him who he wanted. He picked you.”

“I’m too social for the Prince, Ig,” said Paerlio. “I think I make him nervous. You’re more like him than I am.”

“You need to say that you accept, Ignis,” said the King. “Otherwise we cannot move forward. Under the conditions I’ve stated, do you accept your position as the Prince’s advisor?”

Noctis had chosen him.

Ten years, at the very least. Until the Prince was sixteen, the age Ignis was now. Until the prince made the final decision to keep him or let him go.

Most people didn’t have children at the young age of sixteen. He’d done many things early; learned languages, wrote books, constructed theories. Could he have a child early?

 _No,_ was the truthful answer.

Ignis bowed his head. “I accept my appointment, Your Majesty.”

 

The nurse was sent to Oculis; the Count and Countess had just had a baby girl. She left her journal with Ignis, which outlined the general procedures of raising Noctis. Some of it he knew already.

He’d been moved to the rooms adjacent to the Prince’s living quarters. The space was huge. Two servants were sent to him to help him unpack, but it turned out to be overkill as Ignis only owned what could be held in an apartment. That night, he called his mother. They talked far into the early hours.

The days fell into a rhythm. Wake up at six, cook breakfast, wake Noctis at seven, cajole him into getting ready, send Noctis to school by eight. Do housework, attend meetings, research. Pick up Noctis from school at three, cajole Noctis into doing his homework, send Noctis to dinner with his parents, cook diner for himself. Tutor, prepare the both of them for bed. Read a book together, tuck him in by nine. Finish the housework, go to bed, hopefully by eleven.

Things went well. Ignis spent the days reading child psychology books, finding topics that would interest Noctis and designing lesson plans. He learned the boy loved animals, disliked talking to strangers, hated vegetables. More often than not he’d ask to spend time outside after school, and Ignis would take him to one of the stone tables scattered throughout the royal gardens, where they’d do work together.

The nurse had noted that Noctis got sick easily. Ignis stocked up on books on basic healing theory, studied the uses of various potions, learned how to identify and treat any number of illnesses. He found he was interested and kept going; how to set a broken bone, how to stitch a wound closed, how to prevent infection. Most of it wasn’t necessary; the royal healers took care of most things, and all Noctis usually wanted from him was a warm body to curl up against while he waited for the sickness to pass.

And that was good. Noctis was inquisitive, reserved, open, accepting. He listened, considered, expressed his thoughts. It worked.

On Noctis’s seventh birthday, Ignis set a planter on the windowsill before he woke the boy up.

“Noctis?”

The Prince opened his eyes slowly, languidly; on other days this would be cause for Ignis to start urging the boy to stay awake, but today was Saturday.

“Happy birthday, Noct.”

He disentangled the boy’s arms from the bedsheets so he could slide him closer. Ignis turned his body and revealed the window to the Prince.

In the little planter stood a gathering of cool white flowers, their rounded faces open toward the sun.

“Iggy,” breathed Noctis. “What are they?”

_What’s this one?_

Ignis took in the morning. “ _Hellebore Ivory Prince._ ”

 

When Noctis was eleven, his mother died.

Ignis woke up that morning and found Noctis had already left for the day. The Royal family had decided to go on an outing. Even now, Ignis didn’t know the details of what transpired.

He spent the day cleaning, cooking, reading. He took a walk in the gardens. He found a spare moment to practice his swordfighting, which had admittedly gotten rusty since he graduated. By three in the afternoon, the castle was on lockdown.

Ignis didn’t see Noctis until two days later. They didn’t speak to each other. Noctis stayed home from school. He sat on his bed in his room and stared at nothing. Ignis offered food, distraction, company, and was met with apathy.

He eventually ushered the boy to bed.

Ignis woke just after four to the sound of his bedroom door opening.

Still, neither spoke to the other. Ignis obligingly slid to one side of the bed. Noctis clambered in and lied down, smoothing the covers over himself.

After a moment, Ignis closed his eyes.

 

He missed her. Queen Aulea. He hadn’t known her very well, but they’d spoken on numerous occasions – both were raising the same child, after all. But now it was only him. And the King, of course. But all relationships in the castle had grown strange. Noctis, in random bursts, would want to be in Ignis’s shadow, would want to be so far away that Ignis had to run up and down the castle halls to find him. Ignis threw himself into the ever-increasing council meetings: What to do about Niflheim? How best to seek revenge? Should they seek it at all? Could they bear to do nothing? There were no bedtime stories. There was sitting quietly, Ignis’s hand in Noctis’s hair, until the boy fell into a shallow sleep. Then there was sitting some more, until Ignis willed himself to go to his own bed.

The nightmares pursued them regularly. Ignis came to memorize the feel of cradling Noctis’s body in his arms, slight fingers curling in his shirt, the trembling that passed through him.

Ignis did a lot of beating himself up that year. Maybe he wasn’t being fair to himself, but at least now he forced himself to make conversation with Noctis, to try to interest him in his school subjects, to urge him to finish his meals. There was a lot of silence from the other boy, there were a lot of fights, shouting, tears, but both of them lived. Better that Noctis be angry at him than sad at himself.

It just meant that Noctis started his moody teenage years a little early. Ignis didn’t envy Noctis’s new martial arts tutor, Gladiolus Amicitia; Noctis was difficult to motivate these days. And Gladiolus lacked the patience to handle him. Ignis didn’t dare get between them. He brought Noctis to his lessons, chased after him on the occasions he ran away, and didn’t engage Gladiolus in any sort of interaction. The man sought him out, however.

“Ignis Scientia.”

Ignis had been enjoying a rare moment to himself, sitting on a bench in the little haunted garden. The sunlight over his book was blocked by the figure of an unbelievably built man.

“May I help you?”

Gladiolus laughed without humor. “No small talk. Your boy’s been missing lessons and you know it. Do something.”

Ignis set his open book on his lap. “Of course.”

Gladiolus growled, aware of the careless lie. “Scientia...”

“I do what I judge is best for His Highness,” Ignis said. “Your pronouncement of doubt is unnecessary.”

He’d doubted himself, all those years ago.

“And you think it’s best that he skip his training? With Niflheim waiting to strike at us at any sign of weakness? I _beg your pardon_ , but I expected the Prince’s advisor to be wiser than this.”

Ignis snapped his book shut. “I appreciate your input and will take it into consideration. I have things to attend to. Good day.”

He slipped out from under the man’s shadow and retreated to his rooms.

 

The problem resolved himself without him, anyway. There was some incident with Gladiolus, Noctis, and Gladiolus’s little sister – Ignis didn’t know what happened, but the only thing that mattered was the fact that Gladiolus had removed the stick up his ass.

Just as well. On Noctis’s thirteenth birthday he began training over how to use the crystal.

Noctis came home at nine and didn’t have the energy to do his homework. Sometimes he didn’t have the energy to eat. Ignis sat with him, kept him awake, guided food into his body, until the boy sagged against him and he put him to bed. Ignis saw more of Gladio; the man had taken to walking Noctis back to his rooms, in case the boy didn’t have the energy to successfully make the journey alone. Ignis found himself sharing looks with the man more often that not; just a year ago they couldn’t stand to look at each other, and now they searched each other’s eyes out – _Noctis. Keep watch over Noctis._

The library had fast become Ignis’s second home. Now he found himself buried under books of spell theory, magical exposure, crystal history. After the Prince had gone to bed, Ignis would go to the library instead of reading or writing for leisure; he filled a notebook with intricate diagrams of the crystal, of magical points in the human body, of calculations of spell power. He was surprised when he noticed Gladiolus on several occasions, sitting at a table not too far away, staring out the window onto the dark castle grounds.

Again, Gladiolus was the one to approach him.

“Let’s take a walk,” he said one night, standing on the other side of Ignis’s table.

Ignis shook his head automatically. “I need to finish this chapter.”

“Finish it tomorrow,” Gladiolus said simply. “Come on.”

Gladiolus turned and started walking out of the library. Ignis entertained the thought of just sitting there and letting him go, but he groaned internally and went to follow him. Gladiolus led them outside, across the grounds to the little haunted garden. He sat on Ignis’s usual bench and left a space for him, a clear invitation.

They talked. About anything. About their families, their childhoods, their favorite foods, which housekeepers made them laugh. Ignis learned that Gladiolus had lived in Lucis all his life, in a little neighboring town called Somnambula with his parents, siblings, and numerous extended family. When he was seven he climbed a tree and promptly fell out of it, but was completely unharmed to the shock of his mother. He had a pet toad growing up. It used to sleep inside his shoes.

They talked about growing up. Ignis essentially had the responsibilities of an adult at sixteen, and Gladiolus wasn’t so different. He graduated from military academy at twenty and served in the Lucis military for three years, before being assigned to mentor Noctis. They talked about the Prince, their first impressions of him, how he aggravated and worried them in equal measure. They talked about their hopes and fears, their loves.

“There were only a few,” Gladiolus was saying. “Back in military school. The first girl left almost as soon as I met her – she graduated and got sent to the southern border. The second girl...she was impatient with me.”

Ignis snorted. “Impatient with _you_? You’re one of the most impatient people I know.”

Gladiolus laughed at that. “It’s ironic, I know. I guess I was just confused, a little afraid. Both of us were young. We didn’t know who we were yet, How were supposed to know each other if we didn’t even know ourselves?”

“That’s...surprisingly philosophical of you.”

“Don’t look so shocked,” Gladiolus smirked. “The art of war is philosophical.”

“That’s very true,” said Ignis.

“So what about you, prodigy?” Gladiolus teased. “Who did you date?”

“Oh, no one,” said Ignis. “I graduated at sixteen and since then I’ve been working for his Highness.”

“It’s been seven years, hasn’t it?” Gladiolus said. “And you haven’t met anyone in all that time?”

“I guess I didn’t really think about it,” said Ignis.

That wasn’t entirely true. It was true that no one had caught his fancy in the last seven years, but it didn’t mean that it hadn’t crossed his mind. Royal Advisors often married, but the spouse was usually chosen by the Advisor’s family from outside of the Court. Ignis suspected that his mother feared his apathy would hurt whatever girl she found for him.

“Anyway, it’s not like you’ve dated anyone in the last five years,” Ignis continued.

“I have, actually,” said Gladiolus, grinning.

“What? How did I not know?”

“We hated each other when I first arrived remember?” Gladiolus laughed. “Not everyone agreed with your opinion of me, though.”

“Who?”

“Vertram Lenguia.”

“You dated the head sous chef of the Royal Court?!”

“Why are you so surprised?” Gladiolus said, laughing. “He’s a nice guy.”

“Yes, but he’s so—“

“What? So not like me?” Gladiolus grinned. “I’d almost say he’s a little like you.”

Ignis scoffed. “What are you trying to say?”

“Aren’t you even a little curious about what it’s like to be in a relationship?”

“Of course I’m curious. I’m curious about everything.”

“So? Why didn’t you ever do anything about it?”

Ignis sighed. “I was worried about Noctis. Constantly. For seven years.”

They fell silent. The boy in question was currently asleep, after spending half an hour fitfully tossing and turning in bed. Ignis had sat with him, of course. His worry spiked again; Noctis knew to look for Ignis in the library if he couldn’t find him in their quarters, but what if Noctis needed him now? The haunted garden was all the way on the other side of the grounds.

Gladiolus seemed to pick up on his anxiety, and he let out an explosive sigh. “It’s getting cold. We should get back.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” Ignis said half-heartedly, but he stood to follow the other man.

“I know,” said Gladiolus agreeably. “You consider every course of action and determine which is most advantageous for the situation. Any “following of orders” is merely coincidental.”

That surprised a laugh out of Ignis, soft and thin. Gladiolus politely didn’t comment, and they walked back to the castle in companionable silence.

 

Gladiolus was too clever for his own good, Ignis learned. The other man took to “casually” passing by as Ignis was leaving his rooms for the library, and he dragged the both of them to the haunted garden to chitchat. Sometimes Gladiolus would bring books and they’d sit in the lit gazebo so that Ignis could still work; sometimes he brought snacks, sometimes he brought a blanket and they laid it out on the lawn. Ignis ought to be annoyed, but honestly he felt spoiled by all the attention.

They were sitting on Ignis’s bench one night, the scent of desert flowers taunting them in the breeze, when Gladiolus asked, “Can I kiss you?”

Ignis surprised himself by saying yes.

Strange little thing, wasn’t he? Had a child at sixteen, but hadn’t been kissed until twenty three, by a man no less.

Things progressed naturally. It wasn’t long before Ignis found himself in his bed, stark naked, lying next to an equally naked Gladio, laughing quietly in the night.

“So did you enjoy it?” Gladio said, once they’d sobered up a little.

“Yes,” said Ignis, breathless and light.

Gladiolus chuckled. “So why are you laughing?”

“Because I liked it,” Ignis said, his giggle getting caught on his confusion.

“Usually when people have sex, it’s all dramatic and intense,” said Gladio.

“Oh, what would you know?” said Ignis carelessly. “As if you’re some sort of expert.”

“More of an expert than you, smartmouth!” Gladio snorted, and he shoved Ignis’s shoulder playfully. Ignis growled good-naturedly and batted his hand away.

“So what are we, then?” Ignis said after a moment.

Gladio laid back on the pillow and folded his hands over his chest. “Whatever you want,” he said.

Ignis considered. Sex was nice. Kissing Gladio was nice. So was reading under the stars, or talking about their futures late into the night. He liked Gladio. He liked him a lot.

“Could we just be friends?” Ignis said. “I know it’s a weird thing to want, especially after what we just did. But...I don’t know. I do love you, but...”

“But it doesn’t take over your entire being. It doesn’t command your soul. It doesn’t make your heart break to think of never being with me again.”

“A philosopher _and_ a poet?” Ignis laughed. “Besides, my heart _would_ break at the thought of never being with you again.”

“I meant sexually.”

“Gladio!”

Gladio laughed and dodged the pillow. “But I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” said Ignis. “As usual, O Wise One.”

Gladio smirked, satisfied. “Okay then. We’re friends. Ignis.” And Gladio turned to face him properly. “Ignis.”

Ignis turned to mirror his position.

“Ignis. I swear an oath to you. I swear that I will do everything in my power to always serve you, as long as I am able. I swear that I will place you above my own life. I swear that I will do what is best for you, even if it is not what is best for me, even if it makes you hate me. I swear to always be a friend to you, even if you are not always a friend to me. I swear this on my heart, my mind, my soul, my strength.”

Ignis breathed in. “Gladio...”

“Do you swear the same?”

Ignis exhaled, sweet and steady. “Yes.”

 

Prompto. Prompto.

Ignis didn’t really have time to consider Prompto until he was already a permanent fixture in their lives, hiding under the covers with Noctis, sitting with them in the gardens, getting under Ignis’s feet before dinner. Ignis didn’t really know if he minded the boy or not; on one hand, Prompto had the energy and personality of a hyperactive toddler, but on the other hand, it was the first time Ignis saw Noctis willfully engaging with someone his own age. When he realized this, Ignis flinched at the pang of guilt in his chest. He should’ve made sure Noctis had his own friends before this. Writing letters back and forth to Princess Lunafreya, and only seeing her once a year at most, was not enough. But fretting over it was pointless now, when trying to keep up with Prompto occupied his time.

They sparred together, they shared meals together, they curled up against each other to sleep. Ignis was surprised to find that he loved all of them, Noctis, Gladio, Prompto. Noctis still shook from his magic lessons, still coughed awake at night from illness or nightmare, but now it was Prompto that soothed him back to sleep, or Gladio who propped the Prince against him to keep him upright. And Ignis felt lucky.

Gladio had brought a blanket again, and the increasing age of the boys meant they were allowed to stay up later. They spread the blanket out on the lawn, under the dusky, star-specked sky. Prompto and Noctis were tussling, the silhouette of the castle towering behind them, and Gladio lied on his stomach beside Ignis, calling out tips every so often. Ignis sat up against Gladio’s shoulder, a basket of clothing in front of him and a little sewing kit on one knee. He threaded a needle by the light of the moon and set to work mending one of Prompto’s shirts. It only belatedly occurred to him that he wasn’t responsible for the condition of Prompto’s clothing, but he was nearly done stitching the tear anyway. And when he ran into a pair of Prompto’s holey trousers, he didn’t give it a second thought.

And perhaps the fact that he recognized which clothes were Prompto’s and which were Noctis’s was more of an indication of their being a part of him than anything.

He refused to darn Gladio’s socks, though.

 

The holder of the crystal had the power not only to command great feats of magic, but to also allow his closest friends to take control of some of the power as well. The four of them stood in front of the magic tutor, the sharp November air biting at their skin on the East Patio. Ignis held himself still as the blazing energy coursed through him, then slipped away just as quickly.

“That’s enough for today,” the tutor said. “Dismissed.”

Ignis closed his eyes and listened to Prompto’s whooping and Gladio’s laugh, to Noctis’s dry yet amused reply. He exhaled, once, twice. Presently he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Good session,” Gladio said beside him. “I didn’t know you could shoot fire out of your nose.”

Despite himself, Ignis gave a weak chuckle. “Neither did I.”

They said nothing more, but Gladio remained at his shoulder. Ignis watched Prompto drag Noctis back into the castle with excited ramblings of dinner. Gladio and Ignis let them go.

“So why are you stressed?” Gladio said.

Clever Gladio. “Is this how Noctis feels every time he controls the crystal?”

“He probably feels much worse,” Gladio said gently. “But you can dwell on that, or take comfort in the fact that we’re bearing some of his burden now.”

Ignis smiled thinly. “You’re right, as always.”

“Only ever right about you,” Gladio said easily. “Can’t figure Prompto out for the life of me.”

“No one can,” Ignis said, relaxing.

“Dinner,” Gladio said. “I asked Vertram to make his signature dish.”

“You abuse the man.”

“He doesn’t mind.”

“That’s not-“ Ignis sighed good-naturedly. He _was_ partial to Vertram’s ratatouille. “Vertram’s a brilliant chef, but he’s a fool if he spoils you so.”

“Lucky that you’ve got it all figured out then, hmm?”

“Oh, dry up.”

 

Ignis woke Noctis up on his sixteenth birthday.

“I know it’s early,” Ignis said to a grumbling Noctis. “But you’ve got school today and if you sleep in you can’t have birthday breakfast.”

“What...what are you talking about?” Noctis groaned, squirming weakly away from Ignis. “What the hell is birthday breakfast?”

“You won’t find out if you don’t get out of bed, will you?” said Ignis.

Noctis sat up, brushed the hair out of his eyes, and glared sleepily. His expression morphed into a softer one, however, when he caught sight of the windowsill.

“Where did my flowers go?”

“They were looking a little wilted so I moved them outside,” Ignis said breezily. “Come on, now _up!_ ”

After much cajoling. Noctis stood fully dressed and bleary-eyed in the living room. He turned toward the kitchen, but the table stood bare.

Ignis caught his expression and smiled. “Not here, your Highness.”

He led them outside, through the little haunted garden and the cactus garden to the old stone gazebo. Noctis followed him unquestioningly, eyes almost closed from tiredness, until Ignis stopped.

“Ignis!”

The gazebo was filled to bursting with starry white flowers. They stood in pots along the railings, on the benches, on the steps, they spilled out around the gazebo; they clustered in newly-dug flowerbeds that stretched all the way to the yew tree. In the early light, their petals seemed to almost glow, and the sight before them shimmered with light

Ignis grinned and turned toward Noctis, but to his dismay the Prince’s face was scrunched up in agony.

“I told you so!”

“Noctis!” Ignis rushed over to the boy and circled him in his arms. “What? What is it?”

“I told you so!” Noctis said again, and his voice shook warningly with tears. “I knew you’d be a good advisor! I was right and you were wrong and I love you!”

Nictis gripped the front of Ignis’s shirt and buried his face there. Ignis cooed gently and squeezed him tight.

“Oh, Noct. Yes, you were right. Hush, now. I love you too. I was being silly, wasn’t I? You were right. Hush.”

“You’re going to be my Royal Advisor,” Noctis’s voice trembled. “I know I’m supposed to – to wait to tell you, but – you’re so _stupid_.”

And Ignis was crying too, and he grinned wide and pressed his lips to Noctis’s hair. “Precious child. I am honored. Shh, love.”

Slowly but surely, Noctis quieted, until the two were left holding each other, tearstained faces gazing at the gazebo filled to the brim with _Ivory Prince_.

Ignis breathed in, took in the scent of Noctis and the flowers. He’d like nothing more than to stand like this forever, but eventually he disentangled himself from the boy.

“I promised you birthday breakfast,” he said lightly, if a little waveringly. “Come now, love.”

They walked past the newly planted flowers to the dew-green lawn, where Gladio and Prompto sat waiting on a picnic blanket, inviting trays of food before them. Noctis laughed shakily, wiped his eyes, and joined them. They ate and talked as the sun rose.

 

And then Insomnia fell, and then so did King Regis.

They drove miles and miles through the dry desert, past fields of yellowed grass and disfigured trees. They hurtled toward Tenebrae. Noctis slept often.

When he thought of how much he loved them all, Ignis’s soul shook. He though of how losing King Regis was like losing a piece of his mind, how it was like losing a piece of Noctis. He thought of the death of the Queen, of how Fate enjoyed the nasty irony of coming full circle.

He thought of their destination, of Noctis’s coming marriage with Princess Lunafreya. He thought of standing beside them on their wedding day, how he wasn’t leaving them but how he sort of was. He thought of being advisor to the King of a sieged nation. He thought of being advisor to a King who was also a child.

He thought of his dreams, of Niflheim soldiers breathing down his neck, soaking his skin with the blood of his friends.

He thought of Gladio’s laugh, and Prompto’s singing, and the stories he’d tell to all of them around the fire at night. He thought of Noctis’s soft snores, in the backseat, against his collarbone. He thought of their teasing chatter as they collected ingredients for dinner, how they crowded around him and helped and hindered in equal measure. He thought of how they spoke to each other, as if their stopping would signal their permanent, ruthless end. He thought of fighting monsters alongside them, how their bloodstreams mingled with magic, and fear, and fierce loyalty. And he thought of how he knew they were still with him, by Gladio’s laugh, Prompto’s singing, Noctis’s soft snores.

And he felt _lucky._

**Author's Note:**

> Some citations:  
> Plato’s Republic, by none other than Plato, originally in Greek  
> Politics by Aristotle, originally in Greek  
> Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, originally in Latin  
> The Art of War by Sun Tzu (spellings may vary), originally in Chinese  
> The Social Contract by Jean-Jacques Rousseau, originally in French  
> The Prince, by Niccolo Machiavelli, originally in Italian  
> I’ve based Insomnia’s ecosystem on Nevada’s! I thought it was cute.  
> Through my research, I’ve learned that yew trees are poisonous. So don’t eat them. Also, old Voldy’s wand was made of yew, so, you know. Haha. Yew know. Oh gosh.  
> I HOPE THIS STORY WAS OKAY


End file.
